Easier said than done
by CheSanzGalileii
Summary: In which actions lead to conversations that provoke realizations.


_In which actions lead to conversations that provoke realizations._

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

First lightning and then a loud growl that fallows.

Water droplets find their way down the glass window, tree branches hit the wooden walls of the house, hallow echoes fill the air.

I hate thunderstorms.

Trying to fall asleep on an empty bed is not my favorite thing either. Killian is covering Dad's shift for the night and I miss his warm body next to mine. I juggle under the covers, trying to fill that void with the fabric that covers me.

Another lightning.

I close my eyes and start counting. I make it to five before the loud roar of thunder echoes inside the house. Is going to be a long night.

With the covers up to my chin, I wiggle to the center of the mattress trying to take advantage of having the bed to myself.

A flash of light illuminates the whole room.

This time my counting only goes up to two and I cover my ears as the sound of thunder fills the room. The wind is picking up too; the sound of wood cracking its faint, but I am sure the tree outside is losing some branches tonight. It's really hitting hard.

Before the third lightning strikes, everything goes dark. Power outage, and this time the house vibrates when the sky growls in fury. I reach for my cell phone on the night table. Great, no signal either.

I hear the low crack of wooden floors, and instinctively reach for my gun inside the night table drawer. Before I have time to load it, another lightning illuminates the room and exposes the perpetrator.

-"Jesus! I could've shot you!"- I yell right before an anticipated thunder announced its presence.

-"Aren't you glad you didn't?"- she replies from the shadows and her words come out clumsily, her tongue tripping over each syllable before pronouncing them.

I sit up, pushing my body upwards and resting on my elbows as another bolt of light illuminates the night, although not with the same power. Lighting and she moves to the feet of the bed where I can make out her silhouette without much effort.

The next thunder takes six seconds to be heard, the wind is till blowing making the raindrops tap on the window repeatedly. The sound resembling someone pulling eighty words per minute on a typewriter, that and silence.

Alarms go off in my head. Is around 2:00am, the storm outside is raging and Regina is, probably drunk, in the middle of my room. -"Is Henry alright?"- I ask concern, motherly instinct taking over as I put the firearm back in its drawer.

She nods, her hand graciously caressing the bed sheets as another lightning faintly illuminates the bedroom, and I breathe in relive.

Why is she here then, -"Regina…"- I start but quickly find myself being cut off.

-"Your…"- she pauses, making a disgust face before continuing –"… husband asked me to check on you when the town went back to the stone ages."- she states, uninterested and dragging her words.

The faint sound of thunder can be heard in the distance.

I sigh, since Henry left she has develop a quite unusual habit. The same one she used to shamed Killian on every time the opportunity aroused.-"The rabbit hole again?"- I venture even though I already know the answer. David has mentioned he has driven her to Mifflin St in more than a handful occasions.

-"You shouldn't drink and 'poof', remember?"-

-"Spare me the lectures."-she murmurs, low and dangerous like a warning. I can not see her face clearly but I can feel the rolling of eyes.

\- "Your own advise, not mine."- I remember her as she dismisses my comment with a hand gesture.

Now she is encircling the bed, like a hunter cornering its prey, and stops to my right. With back to the window, the minimal light that is coming in through the shades draw her silhouette before she sits at the edge of the mattress.

I shrug, debating whether to be an enabler and feign understanding or risk facing her wrath. I choose the first one, she looks beaten enough already. -"Gotta do what you gotta do."- I offer, opting for sitting up straight with my back against the headboard which causes one of my legs to get uncovered.

Is chilly, but I figure she wants someone to listen attentively. A drunken Regina Mills doesn't just show up to comply with someone else request and much less if that someone is a pirate.

-"As if it were that simple…"- she whispers, turning her face towards the window with what I can only describe as disdain in her voice.

I let her words sink in. Simplicity it's a two edge word, but, "-It could be if…"- and before I can I feel like my mother, starting one of her hope speeches, she lets out a chuckle full of frustration and defeat.

-"Really?"- she asks in a defiant manner before closing the space between us in a smooth swift.

In a twist of events I find myself with her forehead slightly pressed against mine. I can clearly see her eyes, dark and bottomless as black holes; swallowing everything in. I can smell her breath, a mix of sweet and sour; charming like an entranced cobra. I can feel her fingernails scraping lightly over my exposed thigh, making the small hairs on the back of my neck stand in attention.-"Could it?"- she whispered sultry into my ear and realization sinks in.

I shake my head in disbelieve. My breathing has increased and feels like my eyes are going to bulge out of my skull. –"I… I…."- the words don't come out, my palms feel sweaty. –"I…"-.

She pulls back a few inches, lopsided grin with teeth and her signature eye roll before slurring; –"Eloquent as always, Mrs. Jones"- the name coming out of her mouth like venomous spew while the phantom of her fingers still lingers on my skin.

I shake my head trying to purge the feeling of stupor cruising through my whole being. Part of my brain is telling me that she is obviously drunk, to let this die out. The other side is curious, so I ask, even though I'm afraid of the answer.–"Are you… are you coming on to me?"-.

This time she smiles. And is sad, and melancholic, and a loud beep resonates around the house as power is restore. The blinking digital clock by the dresser gives it away. She reincorporates on her feet as the sound of keys juggling comes in from downstairs. Killian is home.

–"Not as simple, is it?" she asks before snapping her fingers and disappearing into purple thick odorless smoke, leaving me dumbstruck, confused, and full of questions.

The deafening sounds of the storm might have subside, but it feels like is just starting.


End file.
